by Cassia Leo
“Eight days. And once you have the drive, get rid of the girl,” he reminds me, grabbing his glass of milk and downing it in a few gulps. He stands up and glances at my gun holster as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “Don’t let your sister down, Kingston.”
When Hunt and his goons are gone, I throw a couple twenties on the table and stand.
“I’ll contact you soon,” I say as Santos rises from his seat.
Santos shakes his head. “You think you can do that?”
“Do what? Find the suitcase?”
He tilts his head and looks me in the eye as if to say, “You know what I mean.”
He wants to know if I can get rid of Izzy when the time comes.
My gaze falls to the table, where the empty glass sits. “I don’t know. But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The muscles in my neck are corded with tension as I pull into Izzy’s driveway. Her Ranger is parked near the front door, and I find myself wanting to ask how her day was at work today.
I shake my head as I pull my pickup next to hers. I can’t have those kinds of thoughts about Izzy. I need to keep my guard up or my sister and her family are dead.
Knocking on Izzy’s front door, instead of walking across her backyard, seems like a less personal approach, so it seems like the right thing to do. Like I’m doing a construction job for a random client, not the girl I’m supposed to stab in the back.
Or the girl I’ve fallen head-over-heels for.
I shake my head as I hop out of the pickup and slam the door shut. Grabbing my toolbox out of the truck bed, I head up the driveway and onto the porch. Izzy opens the door after a single knock.
“Hey,” she greets me with a sunny smile.
“Hey, beautiful.”
The words roll off my tongue as if I’ve been saying them to her for years, and the way her breath seems to catch in her lungs makes them feel even more accurate.
She casts her gaze downward, almost looking bashful. “Why’d you knock on this door instead of the back door?”
And just like that, all the stress from my meeting with Hunt vanishes into thin air.
“Are you gonna invite me in?” I ask, sidestepping her question.
Her hazel eyes widen. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Of course. Come in.”
She steps aside so I can enter. I set my toolbox down on the floor in the entryway. Before she can say another word, I grab her face and kiss her.
Her lips are as soft and sweet as they were last night. And I can smell the same coconut sunscreen wafting from her warm skin.
I want to press her body against the wall and kiss every curve of her gorgeous body. Maybe I should throw caution to the wind and hop on a private plane with her. Live out the rest of our days on a deserted island.
I pull away slowly, placing a parting kiss on her delicate jawline. “Where’s the access to your crawl space?”
She clutches her chest as if she’s having trouble catching her breath, then she lets out a soft laugh. “I think you already know the way to my crawl space.”
I laugh out loud and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go fix your subfloor.”
There’s no need to ask where the access door to her crawl space is. Santos and I have been down there multiple times, looking for the suitcase and placing listening devices.
“This way,” Izzy says, leading me toward the empty guest room across the hall from her bedroom.
She slides open a mirrored closet door and shows me the hatch in the floor.
“I’m just going to inspect the floor right now,” I begin. “So this should only take a few minutes. Once I know what’s going on, I’ll probably have to make a run to the hardware store and grab some lumber.”
“Do you mind if I go down there with you?” she asks. “I want to see what you’re doing. Maybe I can learn how to fix this stuff on my own.”
I don’t want her to go down there with me. I planned to go alone first so I could collect the listening devices. They’re about the size of a quarter, and there are only three, but I can’t risk her seeing them.
“Actually, I’d rather go down alone first,” I reply, my stomach clenching at the crestfallen look on her face. “I want to make sure there’s nothing dangerous down there first. Sometimes, in these old houses, there can be exposed wiring and sewage, and even animals that have died down there.”
She looks horrified at this news. “Okay, you can go down alone.”
I open the hatch and hop inside. Standing straight up, the floor in the closet hits at chest-height. I grab my toolbox and crouch down to head toward the bathroom area.
It’s dark and dirty down here. A corner of the crawl space near the front of the house is littered with trash, which makes me think there must have been a homeless squatter living down here while the house was on the market. Cobwebs snag on my hair and the tops of my shoulders as I walk, and the earthy smell of decay I’m detecting is probably from a long-dead squirrel or rat.
“Anything dangerous down there?” Izzy shouts at me through the open hatch.
“Still looking around!” I shout back.
I collect all three listening devices and stuff them in my pocket. As I do this, I look around for signs of disturbed soil. If Izzy moved the suitcase down here recently, there would be signs of freshly unearthed dirt. But nothing has changed since the last time I was down here.
It has to be in one of the holes on her property if it’s not hidden near the dock. I’ll have to wait for Izzy to go back to work tomorrow before I do another search. This time, I’ll start with the dock, where there are likely to be fewer boobytraps.
I head back to the bathroom subfloor area. Getting down on my knees, so I don’t have to crouch, I inspect the plywood for dry rot and mold. There are multiple areas of water damage and a significant bulge near one of the PVC drainpipes. I’ll have to replace the subfloor in the entire bathroom.
Unfortunately, with only one week left on my deadline from Hunt, I don’t have enough time to do that.
“The coast is clear. Come on down,” I call out to Izzy.
I watch as she lowers her legs through the hatch. Then she hops down, landing softly on the musty dirt. She looks around at all the cobwebs and decides to get down on all fours to crawl toward me.
She gets down on her knees next to me, looking very serious. “What’s the prognosis?”
“You see this floor joist?” I say, pointing at the beam right above us. “This will need to be replaced, along with all the subfloor in the bathroom. And, if I’m being totally honest, I don’t think you should be using this bathroom until it’s fixed. It’s liable to cave in any moment.” I point at the drainpipe where I see the most damage. “You’ve got a cast iron flange on your toilet, and it also needs to be replaced.”
Her brow is furrowed with worry. “I only have one bathroom. Am I supposed to go do my business in the woods?”
“You can rent a portable toilet,” I reply, grabbing a monkey wrench out of my toolbox and tightening the nut on the pipe.
“A porta-potty? Really?” she replies, clearly not amused.
“You’re welcome to stay at my cabin until it’s fixed.”
Her mouth curves in a gorgeous smile. “You want to see me naked.”
I shake my head as I point at the water line above her. “You’ll need to get a plumber out here to change out all your galvanized piping to copper. These are pretty rusted. Then you can get a carpenter out here to fix the floor joists and subfloor.”
She purses her lips. “That sounds expensive.”
“I can do it for you, but it’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
I pretend to think hard for a moment. “It’ll cost you one song. Doesn’t have to be about me. Just a song you think I might like.”
“But how will I know what you like?” she asks.
“I think you know exactly what I like,” I reply as my eyes flit toward the loose tank top she’s wearin
g, which shows a considerable amount of side-boob.
She shakes her tits a little. “Follow my boobs,” she says, shaking her tits gently. “You’re getting very sleepy. Ve-eeeeery sleepy.”
I grin uncontrollably. “You’re a wizard, Jo-jo.”
“But I’m... I’m not a wizard. I can’t be. I’m Jo… Just Jo.”
I chuckle at her Harry Potter movie reference. “You’re a goddamn wizard, woman. In fact, that’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Wizard.”
It’s closer to Izzy than Jolene so it might be easier for me to remember.
“Wizard? That’s your nickname for me?” she complains as she tucks some loose hair behind her ear. “Why wizard?”
I look her in the eye, relishing the way she seems to hold her breath when I look at her. “Because you sure as hell have cast a spell on me.”
She bites her lip then breaks into a smile. “That’s not a spell. I hypnotized you with my breasts. I’ll un-hypnotize you now,” she says, then she lifts her tank top for a split second to flash me her perky tits.
I shake my head as she waits for me to respond to her teasing. Dropping my wrench, I tackle her to the dirt and kiss her madly. My hand slides under her shirt, and she gasps as I brush the backs of my fingers over her ribs. Her arms lock tightly around my neck as she tilts her hips upward.
I pull my head back to look her in the eye. “Can I take another peek?”
She chews her lips as she pretends to consider my question. “Okay, but hurry up. My parents will be home soon.”
I carefully lift the bottom of her tank top until I spy her tan, erect nipples. I brush my thumb over the firm button of flesh and her ab muscles tense.
“Does that mean you like what you see?” she whispers.
I lower the fabric to cover her back up, then I look her in the eye. “I give them a ten out of ten. Would motorboat the hell out of those beauties.”
She playfully smacks my arm, then she pushes me off and begins crawling toward the hatch. “I’m going to pack a bag for our sleepover.”
“Pack everything but clothes. You won’t be needing those.”
16. Izzy
August 6th
Although I’ve spent the night at Colton’s cabin before, my nerves are buzzing as we trek across the crunchy beige grass toward his back porch. This is really happening. I’m totally going to have sex with my ridiculously hot neighbor.
My stomach sinks as I realize I don’t have any condoms. I hope he has some, or this is going to be a very sad sleepover.
I definitely need to make a gyno appointment tomorrow so I can get some birth control.
He carries my backpack in one hand as he climbs the porch steps ahead of me, and a summer breeze carries the subtle scent of his cologne straight into my nostrils. It should be illegal to smell that good after working in a crawl space.
Colton holds the door open for me, and I purposely brush my arm against his as I pass. “Welcome home, wiz,” he says, landing a soft swat on my ass as I enter.
I gasp and clutch my ass cheek dramatically. “I think we should save the spanking for later,” I reply with a wink.
He shakes his head as he closes the door behind Steve. “Feel free to shower or grab something to eat. Mi casa es su casa.”
“Are you painting?” I say, eyeing the paint cans and brushes laid out on a canvas sheet in the corner of the living room. “I can help.”
He sets my backpack down and heads straight to the vintage-style refrigerator, where he grabs a bottle of milk and takes a few large gulps straight from the bottle. “Did you bring some clothes you don’t mind getting paint on?”
“Did you seriously just drink milk straight from the bottle?”
He laughs as he replaces the bottle on the shelf in the fridge and heads toward me. “It’s a bad habit I can’t seem to break. Does that bother you?”
The confident look in his icy-blue eyes as he walks in my direction makes my stomach flip. It’s like he’s whispering to me, “I know my bad habits will never bother you because I’m too fucking handsome. And if they do, I’ll fuck you senseless until you forget you saw me drinking from the milk carton.”
“Nope. Doesn’t bother me,” I declare as he stops in front of me and eyes me as if I’m a delicious morsel of food he’s about to devour.
He smiles as he seems to notice the effect he has on me. “I’d love for you to help me paint. I’ll get you one of my T-shirts, so you don’t mess up this pretty shirt,” he says, softly tugging the bottom of my cream-colored tank top. “Come with me.”
Colton scoops up my backpack, and I follow him to the bedroom I slept in last weekend. I could get used to these sleepovers becoming a weekly occurrence. Or maybe even a permanent thing.
Slow down, Izzy. I mean, Jolene.
I shake my head at my mental flub, and Colton notices the gesture.
“What’s wrong? You have another silent epiphany?” he asks as he drops my backpack on the bed.
I chuckle nervously. “Just trying not to say anything stupid,” I reply. “Will I be sleeping in here alone again?”
One side of his mouth pulls up in a half smile. “Only if you want to. A gentleman does not encroach upon a lady’s space unless she so desires,” he says, reaching up to trace the tip of his index finger along my jawline. “Do you want me to sleep in here?”
I swallow hard as he brushes his lips across my forehead and down my temple. “Oh, I very much desire you in here,” I whisper. “Very much.”
He pulls away and smiles as he takes a step back. “Well, if you insist.”
I blink a few times, attempting to wake from my lusty daydream as he retrieves a faded light-blue T-shirt from a dresser drawer and hands it to me. “The Memphis Grizzlies?” I remark, holding up the shirt to get a better look at the logo.
He shrugs. “We may not have the best teams in Tennessee, but we’ve got heart, and that’s what counts.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Heart? Is that what counts? I thought championships were what counted.”
“You can’t be a champ without heart,” he replies without hesitation.
“What a coincidence? That’s what I’m planning to get for my next tattoo. ‘You can’t be a champ without heart’ across my left boob,” I say, tossing the T-shirt onto the bed. “Ahem. Are you going to watch me change?”
He looks confused. “I just saw your breasts, like, ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah, but that was in the heat of the moment.”
He shakes his head in dismay, his eyes flitting toward the nightstand for a millisecond before he heads for the door. “I’ll be right outside,” he says, closing the door behind him.
I’ll be right outside.
Is that a threat? Like, don’t look through my stuff — and especially not that nightstand I just subconsciously glanced at — because I’ll be right outside where I can hear you?
I quickly peel off my tank top and pull on Colton’s T-shirt. It doesn’t smell like his skin and pheromones mixed with that intoxicating Versace cologne. It smells like laundry detergent. Disappointing.
Emerging from the bedroom, I’m surprised to discover Colton is not standing right outside the door. I find him in the living room, standing on a step ladder as he affixes blue painter’s tape over the window molding.
He glances back at me over his shoulder and drops the roll of tape. “I don’t think I’m going to get anything done with you looking like that.”
I glance down at the faded T-shirt. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head as he steps off the ladder and walks toward me. “Not a damn thing,” he murmurs. “Turn around.”
I spin around for him to look at my backside, and heat rises in my cheeks as he wolf whistles. “You’re making me blush.”
He grabs my hips, and I draw in a sharp breath as his lips brush the back of my ear. “I’d rather make you scream, but I’ll settle for making you my painting apprentice for now.” He plants a lingering kiss on my neck, the
n he turns me around to face him and presses his lips to my forehead. “Grab a brush, wiz.”
We’re halfway through painting Colton’s living room in a soft shade of taupe, when I find myself incapable of doing anything but staring at the smudges of paint on his gorgeous forearms. I try to focus on the task he’s given me — painting around the window molding — but the man is just too distracting. And every time he passes next to me to refill his paint roller, I can’t help but close my eyes and breathe in his manly scent.
“We’ve been painting for almost an hour, and all you’ve done is one side of that window,” he remarks, dipping his roller in the paint tray. “You having second thoughts about manual labor?”
I step away from the window. “Honestly, yes. I’m over this.”
He laughs. “Then what do you propose we do?”
I stare at the wet paintbrush in my hand and smile. “I don’t know, maybe…a paint fight,” I reply, then I flick the brush at him, and he freezes as a splash of paint lands on his face.
He glances at the roller brush steeping in the paint tray at his feet.
I gasp. “You wouldn’t. That’s not even fair.”
“Oh, really? But splashing paint on me when I’m least expecting it is fair?” he says, slowly lifting the roller out of the viscous liquid.
I hold the brush out in front of me like a sword as I back away from him. “You’re dripping paint on the floor!” I shriek, as he follows after me.
He shrugs. “I plan on refinishing these floors.”
My back bumps into something and my eyes widen as I quickly realize I’ve backed myself into a freshly painted wall. He bites his bottom lip, relishing the moment as he raises the saturated paint roller. He’s about to paint a wide stripe of taupe on his faded Grizzlies T-shirt when I lift up the shirt and the roller lands on my exposed breasts.
He gasps this time. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry! Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that,” he apologizes profusely.
I try to keep a straight face for as long as I can, but it doesn’t take more than ten seconds for me to burst into an uncontrollable laughing fit. “I was just trying to save your shirt,” I say through my laughter before I notice I let the shirt drop right on top of the wet paint. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry.”
